


How to Balance an Unhappy Equation

by elistaire



Series: Happy Math and Science [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Food, Hide and Seek, M/M, Misunderstandings, Multi, Romance, Threesome - M/M/M, almost coercion, really good coffee, too many pastries, uncomfortable situations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 05:53:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elistaire/pseuds/elistaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The problem, as Tony saw it, was that Dr. Bruce Banner loved him.  But the Hulk wanted Agent Barton. </i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <i>It was a dichotomy in which there was no resolution.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>Which all led to Tony's brainstorm: </i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>If Tony + Bruce = Ø</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>and </i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>Barton + Hulk = Ø</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>and Hulk = Bruce (as well as Hulk ≠ Bruce, but Tony wasn't going to debate the anti-null of this delicate equation)</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>then Tony = Barton</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>which was obvious, as both of them were equally frustrated.  </i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>Tony had to change the equations somehow.  He started to wonder if perhaps he shouldn't give Tony + Barton a try and see what that might do.</i><br/>Tony Stark decides that he's going to find a solution to this issue. He just has to convince Bruce and Clint that his ideas are good ones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I love the idea of Barton & Hulk's relationship, a friendship bordering on love. But of course, what can either of them do with that? So frustrating. 
> 
> So, yeah, this is completely self-indulgent writing to satisfy my Clint/Hulk desires.
> 
> The story is complete, I'm just editing it before posting the whole thing.

The problem, as Tony saw it, was that Dr. Bruce Banner loved him. But the Hulk wanted Agent Barton. 

It was a dichotomy in which there was no resolution. 

When Bruce was himself, he and Tony spent hours in the lab, and more hours talking, and hardly any time at all being physical. Because the moment Bruce's heart rate went up, he overshot jolly and went strictly for green and giant. And then, he wasn't interested in Tony anymore. The Hulk only had eyes for Barton. 

Barton didn't seem entirely disinclined. He was very patient, when he got scooped up by the Hulk, and held and petted. On the rare occasions that Tony was present, he would actually behold Barton staring up at the Hulk from the cup of his giant, green palm, until the Hulk's eyes would flutter closed, like he was a small child, and slide back down into the smaller shape of Bruce. 

And then Tony would step in, because Bruce was Tony's significant other. Not the Hulk's. And Barton would recede into the shadows. 

Nobody was actually getting what they wanted. Tony and Bruce couldn't get hot and heavy, and Tony was damn sure Barton wasn't getting it on with the Hulk. 

Which all led to Tony's brainstorm: 

If Tony + Bruce = Ø

and 

Barton + Hulk = Ø

and Hulk = Bruce (as well as Hulk ≠ Bruce, but Tony wasn't going to debate the anti-null of this delicate equation)

then Tony = Barton

which was obvious, as both of them were equally frustrated. 

Tony had to change the equations somehow. He started to wonder if perhaps he shouldn't give Tony + Barton a try and see what that might do. 

Perhaps he could find the common ground between Bruce and the Hulk and somehow manage to make everyone happy in the process. Now he only had to convince Barton.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gets pushy about "twins". 
> 
> Clint isn't sure about this ridiculousness. 
> 
> Bruce gets on board, and makes a nice dinner.

Clint was really starting to wonder about Tony. The man had been staring at him with deep, intense, burning eyes for the better part of the last day and a half. He had something on his mind, and Clint wasn't sure he even wanted to know. It felt...dangerous.

By the third day, Clint was wavering between confronting Tony, which would probably lead to an inevitable drag-out fight that would destroy furniture, or completely ignoring him. Clint was opting for the second option, of letting Tony get his crazy on by himself, when Tony finally decided to make his issues known. 

Tony cornered him in the common kitchen, of all places. "Agent Barton," he said, with his arms crossed over his chest and his shoulder leaning against the side of the refrigerator. 

"Stark," Clint said. He could address people by their name just as well as Tony could. Clint flicked him a glance. Tony's gaze had become a veritable laser-sight on him, and it was highly disconcerting. "What's your deal?" Clint asked. He supposed he would have to take care of whatever the issue was sooner or later. He hoped it wasn't something he couldn't fix. Knowing Tony, it could be anything from his dislike of Clint's uniform color to some obscure computer issue that Clint knew nothing about. 

"Ever do twins, Barton?" Tony asked. 

Clint blinked but was able to hide his surprise. He certainly didn't think Tony was going down that road. "That's classified," Clint replied, just to tweak Tony's nose. 

"No, I mean it. It's a valid question." Tony moved away from the fridge to put both his hands palm down on the center island. He stared intently at Clint. "Twins," he repeated. "Have you?"

"I've done a lot of things. What's your point?" Clint was trying to wrap his head around Tony's bizarre question. Really. The man couldn't have been smoldering away for three days over the conundrum of whether Clint had had sex with twins or not. That was a lot of energy to put into a query more worthy of locker-room boasting. 

"So, you aren't entirely against it," Stark said. His body language shifted again. No longer stiff with intent, he was lounging against the wall, examining his cuticles. 

"Why would I be?" Clint asked. 

"Good." Stark stood up again. "That's good to hear. We should talk again. Later maybe."

"About twins," Clint said, trying to still figure out Tony's angle. 

"Yeah, of course. Twins. And other stuff." Tony was suddenly in Clint's space. Not touching, but definitely closer than was normal for general society's comfort. 

"I'd ask, but I'm pretty sure I heard about you and an entire calendar of models," Clint said, still trying to figure out why Tony was acting so oddly. 

Tony flashed his nearly-patented grin. "That was then," he said. "This is now. But they were all fantastic. Especially Miss July." He waved his hands in the air, as if to erase his last statement. "No, forget I said that. I've got other ideas in mind." He snapped his fingers and abruptly backed away. "Good talking with you. We should do this again. Can you come by my lab? Maybe tonight? Eight o'clock?"

Clint gave a one-shouldered shrug. "I'll be there," he said, resigned. Probably Tony was in some manic phase of his personality and just wanted to show off, or reveal some hitherto unknown terrible SHIELD secret. Clint could play along. For the time being. 

~~~

"Explain this to me again," Bruce said. "You're going to do what now?" He frowned.

"Seduce Agent Barton. With his permission, of course." Tony flapped a hand. "Your permission first, obviously."

"Obviously," Bruce echoed. "Okay, I know what you're doing. But could you go over the why again?"

"Oh, I thought I was being clear." Tony leaned against Bruce, putting his hands on Bruce's hips, and rubbing circles there with his thumbs. "Until I figure out a way for us to be together."

"Together?" Bruce sighed. "You mean have sex. We're already together."

"Of course I mean sex. I was just trying to be polite. And I mean until _we_ figure out a way, which we will, because we're us, and it is only a matter of time. But it might be a while, so I thought, why not kill two birds with one stone and all that sort of thing. Besides. Once we figure it out, that's the end of the romance for Agent Barton, right? So, why not make him happy now, so he'll be less miserable later. Out of the generosity of our hearts. Unless you can't stand him. And if you say no, that's it. I'm done. I won't even talk to him tonight. I'll spurn the advances he never made."

Bruce dropped his head onto Tony's shoulder. "You aren't making any sense. What two birds? What end of the romance? I thought Barton was with Agent Romanoff."

"I don't know about that. What he does with her is their business. I'm talking about our relationship." Tony brought his hands up to cup Bruce's face. "Let me make you happy, please."  
"I'm very unclear how you having sex with Barton will make me happy."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Are you? Unclear, that is. Think about it for a minute. Don't you feel something for him? A tiny twinge? A greenish, angry twinge?"

Bruce had to think about that for a long moment. When it came to science, he and Tony were on par. When it came to engineering, Tony had it over him hands down. But when it came to emotions, Bruce figured they were both pretty much messed up. He'd been aware that Tony had been grappling with some concept for a few days now, but Bruce had thought it'd been something to do with their experiments, or the Iron Man suit, or anything to do with Stark Industries. Not that Tony was contemplating having a physical relationship with another man. Bruce couldn't blame him, of course, because his own heart rate damned him to nothing more than a few kisses and careful touching, but he hadn't thought it would come to this. 

"Are you saying the Other Guy has something to do with this, other than keeping you and I from having sex?" Bruce asked. 

Tony looked up to the ceiling and blew out his breath in an exaggerated aggrieved manner. "Uh, yeah. Bruce, I thought you knew. Hulk's got it bad for Agent Barton."

Bruce was so shocked that he actually stepped out of Tony's embrace. "What?" he gasped. 

Tony frowned at him. "You didn't know. I thought you got flashes of info from the Other Guy. He didn't communicate this at all?"

"No." Bruce felt behind him for the edge of a table, and then sat down on top of the bench space. He took a few deep breaths to ease the sudden surge of emotions out of his system. He was trying very hard not to be angry about not knowing something so important. "How do you know?" he finally asked. 

Tony came and took Bruce's hand, half-kneeling between Bruce's knees in front of him. "Last handful of battles. Hulk's been staying near Barton. Smashing anything that even remotely gets close. And after all the smashing is over, Hulk actually grabs him."

Bruce gasped, horror filling him. 

Tony patted his hands on Bruce's thighs, speaking all in a rush. "No, no. Not like that. He doesn't crush him or hit him or anything like that. He treats him like he's a china doll, trust me. Like he's made out of spun glass. Or sugar. Spun sugar, even."

"Then what?" Bruce asked. He didn't want to know, but he had to. He was responsible. He was always responsible. 

"Then Hulk just...I dunno...rubs his finger on Barton's head. Like he's a bunny rabbit or something. And Hulk gets this dopey expression. I mean, it's hard not to see it. The Other Guy is smitten. And then, of course, he's in love, so he isn't angry anymore. So you come back. Barton slinks off. I come to the rescue. End of story."

"The Other Guy _likes_ Barton. You're sure?"

"Absolutely sure," Tony said with a nod. "Poor guy."

"Yeah. That's a nightmare," Bruce mumbled. His horror was growing, not shrinking, despite Tony's assurances. "You want to exacerbate the problem by involving Barton with us? Tony, that's the worst idea ever!" 

"What? No, it's brilliant. Think about it. Me and Barton, you love me, Hulk loves him. It's win-win all across the board."

"My God, no, Tony." Bruce closed his eyes. "The Other Guy...he might like Agent Barton, but Barton can't possibly like the Other Guy back. We can't encourage this. What if he...what if...." In the dark, behind his eyelids, Bruce could imagine the worst. The Other Guy's obsession. The Other Guy holding too tightly, crushing, killing, smashing. And Agent Barton broken like a fragile toy.

"It's already done. The Other Guy wants Barton. He can't have him. You and I can't have each other. But I can have Barton, and you can watch. Direct, if you like." Tony winked at him. "Kinky. I like it."

"What does Agent Barton have to say about this?"

"Don't know yet. I'll ask him tonight at eight." 

~~~ 

Clint surveyed the lab through the windows. Tony was seated at a table, tinkering with something in his hands. The light in the lab was bright and focused, so Clint was mostly sure Tony hadn't noticed him yet, although it was possible Jarvis would give him away at any moment. He supposed he should get this over and done with. Whatever Tony wanted, he'd hear him out, make a decision, and get back to taking care of his own business. 

He rapped his knuckles on the glass door. Tony looked up, his gaze sharp before it softened and he smiled. He waved a hand and the door clicked open. 

Clint pushed through it and went inside. "It's eight o'clock. You wanted to see me. About twins?" He said the last line lightly, letting Tony know that this didn't have to be a serious meeting. 

"Agent Barton!" Tony said. He gestured to the empty stool nearest him. "Clint. You don't mind if I call you that, do you?" He seemed more full of nervous energy than normal. 

"That's fine," Clint said. He hoped that whatever had Tony on edge wasn't going to be something disastrous, or that put the world in danger. Clint really wanted a few weeks off from saving the universe. 

"Good. Excellent. Now...ah...." Tony swiveled around, looking for something, and obviously not finding it. "Never mind," he said. He gestured to the empty stool again. "Come, sit. Please."

Clint didn't say anything, but he perched himself against the seat of the stool. 

"Before I go any further, I just wanted you to know that I talked it over with Bruce. And he's fine with whatever we decide."

Hell. This was about the world being in danger of blowing up. Clint sat up straighter. "Should we call in the rest of the team?" he asked. "At least call in Cap."

Tony's eyes grew three sizes larger. "The rest-- Absolutely not!" He shook his head and then grinned and shook a finger at Clint. "You're a naughty boy. I'll remember that."

"What?" Clint asked, suddenly confused. Tony didn't usually do that to him. He was a bit off-the-wall, but Clint liked that. The man had his patter down, and did some wickedly good repartee. Clint admired it, and generally didn't have too difficult a time following his jumping logic and seemingly endless non-sequiturs. "Slow down," he said. "I think I missed something. You were going to tell me why you asked me down here. I thought it had to do with an upcoming mission."

"Oh...oh, of course. No. Not that...so much as a mission like usual, anyway. We could call it a mission, if it makes you happy," Tony rambled on. He leaned forward, and focused his gaze on Clint. "Sound like a plan?"

"No. Not even remotely," Clint said. "Tony, just cut to the chase. What's wrong?"

Tony sighed. "I meant to do this more like the suave and debonair, handsome devil that I am, but I botched it a bit. So--" He leaned forward even more until he was in Clint's personal space. His hands came up slowly to cup behind Clint's jaw on one side, and the side of his head just behind his ear on the other. His hands were surprisingly warm, and Clint could feel the rasp of calluses against his skin. Then Tony pressed his lips gently against Clint's, held it there for a long moment, and then pulled back. "That was nice," he said, with the faintest smile, and a gleam of something in his eyes that Clint couldn't quite name. 

"Uh," Clint said, as he lifted his own fingers to touch at his lips. "Tony? Did I miss something?"

Tony hadn't released his hands from framing Clint's face, and he looked like he might lean in to steal another kiss at any moment. "Not if you say yes," Tony said wickedly. "I thought you and I should get to know one another. Seeing as how we're sharing a boyfriend."

"Sharing?" Clint asked, trying to parse the words. "Bruce isn't-- I'm not--"

Tony held up a finger to Clint's mouth. "Not Bruce. The Other Guy."

Clint stilled. He wasn't sure where Tony was going with this. "I don't understand," he finally said. 

"The Hulk," Tony said. "He's got some sort of fuzzy feelings toward you. You must have realized. And from what I've seen, you reciprocate a little bit. On some level at least." Tony shrugged one shoulder. "Boyfriend might be a bit more descriptive than true. But the two of you have a relationship. Even if it only lasts about three minutes after a battle." Tony's fingers stroked down Clint's face. "Now, I have the same sort of problem with Bruce. He's not always there. For obvious reasons. But the two of us. We're like the mirror objects. Bruce and the Other Guy."

"Oh...twins," Clint said, finally getting where Tony was going with the whole thing. "This is _for_ Bruce."

"And for Hulk," Tony put in quickly. "He can't have you, lest he smash you to bits. But Bruce can sort of have both of us. If you want. And I want." Tony's breath was warm against Clint's neck, and his voice was soft. "I watched you, Clint. To make sure this would work between us."

Clint thought back to the days where he'd noticed Tony staring him down. It made a lot more sense now. "Figuring out if I was your type?" he asked. It would have come out a lot sharper if Tony wasn't pressed closely, his fingers splaying into Clint's hair. 

"Among other things," Tony replied. "Now you just need to decide if you want this."

Clint shifted himself out of Tony's grasp, and the man didn't follow him with anything other than his dark, questioning eyes. "I'll think about it," Clint said, and escaped out the door. 

~~~ 

Bruce heard the door open and close, and then the soft footfalls that meant Tony was approaching. Bruce was standing at the bank of windows, staring at the lights of the city. He'd been thinking about the situation for awhile now. "So how did it go?" he asked. He turned to see Tony rubbing a hand through his hair. He looked fatigued. 

"About what you'd expect, you know, when you suggest something radical, and reveal you're aware that a man's got a somewhat obvious secret love crush on a giant green rage monster."

"He said no." Bruce felt a wave of relief sweep through him, but it was tinged with the flavor of regret. He was surprised at that. He had thought he'd known his own mind, and that watching Tony together with Clint would have been a great way to kick start a deep jealousy within himself. Not that he would ever say no to Tony, even when it was some crazy idea like this. But he'd been hoping that Barton would recognize the ludicrous nature of the suggestion. 

"What's that look?" Tony asked. His eyes narrowed at Bruce. "You just got a look. What are you thinking?"

"Look? I don't have a look," Bruce protested. 

"You did, and you do. Now, cough it up. What were you just thinking?" Tony rounded on Bruce. 

"I think...I think the Other Guy is disappointed," Bruce said, trying to untangle his own emotions from the underlying ones. "He's angry about the rejection." 

Tony laughed. "Now that's not surprising." He turned and collapsed into a chair. "Anyway, Barton didn't say no. He said he'd think about it. Which could be a polite way of saying no, I grant you. But it could also be a way of saying he'd think about it. I did spring it on him somewhat, so he probably wants to mull it over." Tony stood up again and moved to take Bruce's hands in his own. "Bruce, this is okay with you, isn't it? I want to make you happy. And I want to be happy. With happiness for us together. All happy. Happy all around."

"I know you do, Tony." Bruce shook his head. "Honestly, I was sort of hoping Barton would turn you down. But...I think that the cat is out of the bag." Bruce put a hand to his chest and closed his eyes. "The Other Guy...he's so frustrated, and angry. Over Barton. I didn't realize. It felt like the same rage that was always there, I never realized that there was a source to some of it. He _wants_ this now."

Tony looked slightly pale. "You don't think that Hulk would hurt Barton? Punching Thor is one thing."

Bruce shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe we can send Barton to the other side of the world. Or maybe I should go there instead."

"I've got a better idea." Tony grinned. "We'll invite Barton for dinner."

~~~ 

Tony sent off the dinner invitation to Barton through Jarvis, making it very polite, but with the obvious intent that there could be any sort of discussion that Barton might like. Then he went down to the lab to play around with his projects for a while. 

When he had first come up with the idea, it had struck him as a perfectly balanced equation. Now, he wasn't entirely sure. There were a lot of variables that he hadn't foreseen. 

The biggest variable, of course, being the Hulk. 

Tony hadn't wanted to put Agent Barton in danger, but the things Bruce had said had made Tony start to break out in a cold sweat. Usually he let Bruce do all the worrying but it didn't stop Tony from imagining the worst scenarios possible where the Hulk killed Barton in any number of ways, even if he didn't mean to. Tony reminded himself several times that when he'd seen the Hulk with Barton that the green guy had been perplexingly gentle. Really. 

The other variable that Tony hadn't anticipated was that Bruce might not actually like the idea. Sure, Tony had figured it would take a little bit of convincing--after all, it was a really odd situation, but it was built out of constraints that Tony was trying to figure a way around. Hell. If Tony could take Bruce to bed right this instant, then he'd let Barton and Hulk figure out their own deal, but he couldn't. Tony had timed it and was keeping a spreadsheet. He got about ten minutes of intense kissing, and as soon as he tried to head for third base, he was called out, and the game was lost. 

It was better than Barton had managed, considering the most Tony figured Hulk could do was _pet_ him. Yeah. So not satisfying. 

The only resolution that existed in the immediate future was a tryst between Tony and Barton, and Bruce could be there to observe, and direct. Tony closed his eyes and imagined Bruce calling out instructions, and Tony doing everything he'd ever wanted to do, showing Bruce everything that was possible. It could be beautiful. 

Tony glanced to the clock. He'd worked all night, and was finally feeling sleepy. In fact, it was mid-morning again. He should get a few hours of sleep. Enough so that if tonight's dinner went well with Barton...well, Tony liked to be an optimist. 

Tony let himself into the area he shared with Bruce, and he noticed there were piles of things on the counter. He glanced at the items and then opened the fridge door. More food. Fresh vegetables were piled into colanders, several hard cheeses were wrapped with butcher paper, out of season berries were tucked away in one corner, with some decadent Chantilly-cream in a small container nearby. Two sheets of paper were also on the counter: recipes, and scribbled notes. 

Tony started to whistle. Bruce had decided he liked the plan. If he was going to make this sort of a dinner, then obviously Bruce was going to try and woo Barton just as hard as Tony planned on. 

Between the two of them, Barton didn't stand a chance. 

~~~ 

"Hmmm," Natasha said. She was doing a handstand and had been for the past fifteen minutes. "Will you go?"

"I don't know yet." Clint leaned against the wall, sinking a little lower. He should be doing handstands, but he was too preoccupied. 

Natasha didn't even glance at the clock. "You've got about twenty minutes to decide. Then they'll expect you up there."

"I know."

"What's holding you back?" Natasha switched focal points. "Banner isn't the Hulk, so you don't like him? Tony is annoying as hell?"

"I like them both fine," Clint said. "As far as that goes. That's the easy part. It's the Hulk I'm not sure about."

"The Hulk?" Natasha smoothly bent over backwards to land on her feet and pushed up to standing. She brushed her hair back with both hands and considered Clint with a calculating eye. "I thought you and he did like each other. Or don't you?"

"We do. Or at least I like him, and I think he likes me. But it's more like buddies. Not like what Tony has in mind."

Natasha raised a single eyebrow. 

Clint sighed. "It's a bit scary, even for me, to think Hulk might like me a bit more than as friends. This has pushed the timetable. I like Hulk, but developing feelings for him otherwise…that's just asking for trouble."

"Tony seems to manage not to get crushed every night." Natasha shrugged and bent forward, back into her handstand. "It's a dinner. At least you can hear them out. Find out where they really think they want to take this idea."

Now it was Clint's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Tony wasn't subtle." He waved a hand. "Fine. I'll go listen to their ridiculous idea."

"Don't forget to report back," Natasha said. "I'll be down here."

Clint swallowed down a reply. He didn't need Natasha to clock him one before he went upstairs. At least he was assured of a good dinner. 

~~~ 

Bruce eyed the table one last time as the door chimed. Tony, with a drink in his hand and a wink at Bruce, bounded to the door. He smoothed done his shirt before answering. "Welcome!" he said, as he swept one arm in an invitation to enter. 

"Thanks," Barton said. He had a bottle with him that he handed over to Tony. 

Tony glanced at it and an eyebrow went up. "Lovely," he said. "I haven't had sparkling apple cider in…a long time. If ever."

Barton's attention flickered all around the room, cataloguing it, and then settling on Bruce. "I don't drink when I'm on call," he said. 

"On call?" Tony asked. "But we're Avengers. We're always on call."

"Exactly," Barton said. He nodded at Bruce. "Good evening, Dr. Banner."

"Thank you for coming, Agent Barton," Bruce said. He dipped his head, then caught Barton's eyes again. "I—uh—I should check on things." Bruce back pedaled to the kitchen. The table was set perfectly, and Bruce had the dinner well under control. First up was a salad. It was sitting, chilled and ready to go, in the fridge. It was comprised of butterhead lettuce with sliced green pears, peppercorn chevré, and sunflower seeds. For the main entrée, Bruce had a red pepper baked ziti in the oven, still bubbling away and ready to serve. For dessert, he had a sweet shortbread cake, fresh mulberries, and the Chantilly cream to pour over the top. He also had a cheese platter on the side, with tart green grapes. 

Bruce retrieved the salad from the fridge and brought it out. He set it on the table. Barton was standing in the middle of the room, his arms crossed over his body, while Tony spoke and rolled his wrists, gesturing. "Time to eat," Bruce said. 

Tony swiveled. "Oh, after you, Clint," he said, and Bruce thought the name sounded funny to his ears. That was part of the point of the dinner, he decided. If this radical idea of Tony's could ever even work, they had to get to the point where they used their first names. At the moment, Bruce couldn't fathom not addressing Barton without the Agent part coming first. 

Barton gave a curt nod and looked to Bruce. "Where should I sit?"

"Here is fine," Bruce said and motioned to the closest chair. It would put Barton between Tony and himself. Bruce wasn't sure if that would help or hinder their cause. 

Tony flashed a quick thumbs up at Bruce, but Bruce just shook his head. Barton was here to be polite, but nothing more. Yet. 

"I appreciate the dinner," Barton said as Bruce passed him a plate full of salad. "I don’t often cook just for myself. This looks good."

"Bruce is a fabulous cook," Tony said. "He loves to do it. Cooks for the both of us all the time. Cooking for three isn't harder than two, is it?"

Bruce shook his head. "No. It wasn't any trouble. I'm glad you came, Agent Barton."

"If he keeps cooking, I might not continue to fit into the suit," Tony joked. "It's already getting tight in the waistline."

Bruce smiled, and he actually caught Barton lift the corner of his mouth in amusement. That had to be a good sign, he thought, if Barton could find Tony funny. 

After the ziti, and before the mulberries, Barton finally seemed to have enough of the convivial conversation that both Bruce and Tony had agreed to stick with. Or else he was just tired of Tony's less than subtle attempts to convince Barton that his sudden presence in their lives would be welcome. Tony had expounded on Bruce's cooking abilities, the overly large closets designed into the suites, that the guest room had the same quality mattress as the master bedroom, and could be keyed to lock uniquely, and that Tony was going to order an espresso machine for the kitchen.

"Dr. Banner, dinner was excellent," Barton started, "but I came here at Tony's invitation to talk. I've heard his proposal. But not yours. What exactly did you want to say to me?" 

Bruce looked to Tony, who was schooling his face into a pleasantly bland expression. He licked his lips, trying to order his thoughts. "I don't really know yet, Agent Barton," he finally said. "But Tony's right about the Other Guy. You've got his attention. I thought we could maybe…take it slow. One small step. Before any other step."

Barton frowned. "What's the first small step that you have in mind?"

"Your being close seems to calm the Other Guy," he said. He tapped his chest. "Even with you just sitting here for dinner, he feels less agitated. I feel it, too. I thought, if you were willing, that perhaps we could try an experiment, here tonight. Before we start anything serious."

"What sort of experiment?" Barton asked. 

Bruce glanced to Tony, then back to Barton. "Nothing too complicated, I assure you. Or dangerous."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's not happy with nine minutes and forty-seconds. 
> 
> Clint gets a head rub. Then he and Natasha play tag. 
> 
> Bruce finally gets a good sleep in.

"Nine minutes and forty-two seconds," Tony had muttered to Clint just before they had all taken their positions. Apparently that was how long Tony got to engage with Dr. Banner before his watch would begin beeping out a warning of impending doom. Clint was very sure that nine minutes and forty-two seconds was not nearly enough time to be close to the one you cared about. It seemed rather a cruel twist.

Which was the only reason that he'd agreed to Dr. Banner's experiment. 

Now Clint was sitting on the floor with his back to the sofa, Dr. Banner's leg on one side of him and Tony's leg on the other. Dr. Banner was resting one of his hands on Clint's shoulder, in a very respectful way, while he and Tony made like teenagers at a drive in movie. 

Clint kept an eye on his own watch as the seconds ticked by. It had been a challenge to find a position where everyone would be comfortable for ten minutes, but it still wasn't ideal. Clint had to tilt his head to catch glimpses of what was going on, although the guttural, pleased noises made it obvious.

Dr. Banner's hypothesis was that if he could remain in physical contact with Clint, that it would help keep the Hulk calmer, more sedate, for longer. His suggestion of activity had been well within Clint's comfort zone, and Clint had also been grateful that it was something he could do. He liked Tony and Dr. Banner as teammates, but he was concerned about the current situation developing into something untenable, or at the least, uncomfortable. 

At three minutes, Dr. Banner's hand slid up the curve of Clint's shoulder to his neck. He went very still, and Dr. Banner began to knead the tips of his fingers just at the base of Clint's skull. It felt ridiculously good, and Clint leaned into the touch. 

Tony was mumbling nonsense behind him, and Clint could hear them shift around, becoming more animated, more frantic in their touching and kissing. Everybody still had their clothes on, and in general, hands were on top of the fabric, but the words and sounds were wanton and decadent. Clint might have blushed, if he'd been the sort that blushed, but in any case, Dr. Banner was massaging his entire head now, running his fingers through Clint's hair, rubbing at his skin. 

Clint could have stayed there forever. He was feeling relaxed and nearly boneless as Dr. Banner continued to touch him, gently rifling his fingers through his hair, rubbing circles with his fingertips, stroking away the tension at the top of Clint's neck. Dr. Banner's hands were warm, slightly roughened, and steady. Clint would have moaned in pleasure, but he didn't want to distract them, or cause any shift in attention. It seemed Dr. Banner was well engaged with kissing Tony, and the rubbing was a secondary thought. 

Then another hand drifted snowflake-soft onto Clint's other shoulder. He stilled again, and realized it was Tony. 

Clint glanced at his watch. Twelve minutes. A new record, if Tony's previous statement was true. 

Tony tangled his own fingers through Clint's hair, breezing over Dr. Banner's hand, and then he started to massage the muscles of Clint's neck at the juncture of neck and shoulder. That felt wonderful too. Tony's hands were strong from his hours of mechanical engineering, and he kneaded at Clint's sore spots like he knew they were there. 

Clint let his head fall back, and he closed his eyes. If Tony and Dr. Banner wanted to make-out for an hour, as long as they didn't stop rubbing him, Clint was fine with that. 

Clint drifted on a haze of feel-good pleasure. Eventually, he realized that Dr. Banner and Tony had stopped, and were dozing on the couch, their hands still in contact with his skin, solid points of connection. 

"Hey, Clint," Tony finally said, his voice low and relaxed. "Thirty-five minutes and that watch didn't beep once."

"Mmm," Clint said. He wasn't sure what he should say. He could hear Dr. Banner breathing rhythmically in a tell-tale way that made Clint sure he'd fallen asleep. 

"Thank you," Tony said, and he squeezed his hand on Clint's upper arm. "Just this. It was more than I thought I'd ever have." Then he gave a soft sigh, and Clint could tell that he'd fallen asleep as well. 

Clint leaned further back against the couch. If he fell asleep here, he'd wake up with a crick in his back for sure, but he didn't want to move. He was pretty sure he'd crossed a line at some point, or rather, had allowed a line to be crossed. It troubled him that with this small experiment as a success, that Dr. Banner and Tony would probably want more. Getting a head massage while they made-out was not a huge concern, but Clint could imagine that Tony would want to take up his initial suggestions. Clint wanted to help them, but he was sure there would come a point at which he wouldn't want to dive any deeper. 

Clint sighed. He would think about it later. Right now, he was tired as well. 

~~~ 

Tony opened his eyes slowly. Bruce was still asleep on the other side of the couch, looking peaceful and content. Tony ached to reach out and start touching again, but he quelled the impulse. He didn't want Bruce to wake up. 

Clint was still between them, his head thrown back and his eyes closed. Bruce's hand was resting in the crook of Clint's neck and shoulder, and Tony realized that Bruce hadn't lost contact with the man since they had started their experiment. 

Tony yawned and slowly moved off the couch. He had been up all the previous night but he was feeling well rested. He usually didn't need much sleep, as a rule. A few hours a night were more than enough to keep him sharp and energized. The nap on the couch had been just as good as a full night in bed. He wondered if it had to do with Bruce being so much calmer with Clint there. Tony suspected it might be true. When Bruce slept deeply, then so did Tony.

He wandered over to the dining area and started to gather up the food that had been left out. He would tuck it all in the fridge. A quick glance to the clock told him he'd slept about three solid hours, which meant the food shouldn't have spoiled just yet, but it wasn't a good idea to leave it on the table. He noticed the berries and cream were still in the fridge, and he had the wild hope that perhaps the three of them could eat it for breakfast together. 

He and Bruce had finally stopped only when they'd realized that Clint had fallen asleep at their feet, and it had felt somehow wrong to continue without him being awake. Then they'd dozed off, too content to get up, or wake Clint, and Tony was ecstatic at the possibilities that were now presented. Bruce's heart rate had stayed down, no matter how ardently Tony had kissed him, nor how feverishly he'd touched him, and despite every sultry thing Tony could dream up to whisper in his ear. That meant that actual sex wasn't out of the question. 

As long as Clint was there, too. To keep Hulk at bay. 

And Clint had been okay so far. The experiment hadn't fazed him. In fact, Tony was pretty sure that Clint had enjoyed the head rubbing. If that was what it took, Tony could certainly reserve one hand to keep Clint happy. It was the least he could do. The rest of him would be all for Bruce. 

"Tony?"

Tony whirled, and saw Clint standing in the doorway of the kitchen. "Clint. You're awake." 

Clint nodded, and spoke very softly. "Yeah. I didn't want to wake Dr. Banner. But you were up, so I thought I'd say thank you for dinner, and get going." He rubbed his neck. "I'd rather not sleep on the floor if I don't have to," he said with a grin. "Dinner was great, though." 

"Will you come again?" Tony asked, suddenly realizing that they hadn't made any further plans. Somehow he'd imagined taking Clint in to the bedroom, stowing him off to one side, if necessary, but _incorporating_ him. Without him, Bruce would get snarly and then he'd be back to nine minutes and forty-two seconds. 

Clint rubbed the back of his neck and looked uncomfortable. "I don't know, Tony. It's a lot to think about."

"But it was good," Tony insisted. "Wasn't it?"

"Yeah, I think so. Sort of. It's just…bizarre." Clint shrugged. "I want to help you both. Really. But. It's just…a lot. I don't…."

Tony realized that his dreams were slowly swirling down the drain, and he did the first thing that his brain suggested. He crossed the room and wrapped his arms around Clint, and pulled him into a searing kiss. 

Clint stepped back in surprise, but didn't fight the kiss after a moment. In fact, a few moments into it, he melded into Tony, relaxing.

Tony pulled back, and fixed his gaze on Clint. "Come back," he said. "Dinner again. Very small steps. I promise. Just don't say no entirely. Even if its just what we did tonight, I'll take it."

Clint made a noncommittal noise and disengaged himself from Tony's arms. "Maybe," he said. He looked out through the doorway to where Bruce was sleeping on the couch, and now that Tony was closer, he could see that Bruce's expression had turned. He was definitely not as content now, and Tony suspected it was because he didn't have Clint nearby. "The Hulk—" Clint said, and then shook his head and didn't finish his thought. 

"I know," Tony said, even though he really had no idea at all what Clint was getting at. "It's complicated." That seemed reasonably safe to say. 

Clint gave Tony a look, and then turned and left the kitchen, and the apartment. 

Tony sighed and leaned against the nearest counter. He wasn't sure if it could have been worse, or if it might have gone better. 

~~~ 

Natasha was as good as her word. She was still in the gym, smoothly doing stretches, even though it had been hours. She raised an eyebrow at him and gave a pointed look at the clock on the wall. 

Clint ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Fell asleep. Got a fantastic head rub, though."

The subtle pursing of her lips was all the answer he received. Clint gave her a more thorough line-by-line of the evening. 

Natasha tilted her head, considering him. "What are your thoughts now?" she asked. 

Clint shrugged. "I don't know exactly. Confused, I guess. It just seems like the stakes are higher."

"Hmm." Natasha stood up. "Perhaps you're too close."

Clint smiled. "I do see better from a distance."

"Up for a game of tag?" she asked. 

"It's almost midnight."

"Perfect time of night for this."

Clint's smile widened. "Same rules as last time?"

"Four block perimeter," Natasha said. "No indoors. Limit on being stationary is two minutes."

"You're on."

Natasha tapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Tag. You're it." Then she ducked and ran. 

Clint counted to ten, and then ran after her. 

The game was simple. Just like the children's game of tag, the point of the exercise was to keep away as much as possible. A physical touch transferred the nature of being 'it' from one to the other. 

Only Clint and Natasha didn't play in a field. They played in the streets, in the city, and on the rooftops. 

There was no time for Clint to spend critically analyzing the evening with Tony and Bruce. He had to employ all his wits and skill against his opponent, because she was crafty and indefatigable. Clint aimed for the highest point at the intersection, crouching on a roof top, and surveyed the area below. A shadow flitted, and he moved. 

His lungs ached from the physical exertion, but his mind felt finally unburdened. There was only the chase. 

Clint reached the next corner and swung himself up onto an overhang, and went flat. He started counting in his head, and just before his two minutes were up, he saw her flip down from a darkened hiding place. Clint rolled up, launched himself forward, landed near where she was headed, and reached out—

Natasha back flipped, changing direction smoothly, and Clint's outstretched hand grazed only through air. He'd missed her by millimeters. 

Natasha hissed, displeased with herself, eyes narrowed. Then she was gone again, and Clint dashed after.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce wakes up angry. 
> 
> Teenagers try to bulk up, so Bruce has to hulk up.

Bruce woke slowly, and realized that his left arm was under him and had gone numb, and his feet were cold since the blanket had fallen sideways. He also remembered that he'd fallen asleep on the couch. 

Waking up was one of Bruce's least favorite things. When he was awake, his control over the Hulk was constant, like putting a hat on and wearing it all day. Sometimes he forgot the hat was there, but it still stayed on. Sometimes, he had acute attention on how the hat felt on his head. 

With the Other Guy, that period between sleeping and waking was a grey zone where Bruce had to reinstitute control. Usually it wasn't a problem. The Other Guy was asleep as well, and at his most docile, and Bruce clamped down on everything within moments. 

Today was not typical. As Bruce woke, he reached out, with his non-asleep arm, and he quickly scanned the room. No Tony, and no Barton. It seemed that the second absence was the more important element because Bruce could feel the Other Guy roiling inside. He was agitated. He'd _had_ Barton just last night, and he remembered falling asleep still touching his skin. He did not like that Barton was now gone. 

The Other Guy shifted inside him again, malcontent and growing more determined. He would _find_ Barton.

"Tony," Bruce wheezed as he sat up and wrapped his arms around his torso. He closed his eyes and tried to stuff the emotions back down. "Tony, are you here?"

"Bruce? What's wrong? You sound—" Tony came in from the kitchen. He was freshly showered and dressed, crisp looking in a perfectly-tailored suit, and Bruce remembered he had some sort of meeting planned for that morning. 

"Where'd he go?" Bruce asked. He reached out to grab at Tony, rumpling the suit as he caught at fistfuls of the material. But touching Tony only made Bruce feel better, not the Other Guy. The Other Guy wanted to know why Barton was missing, and was growing worried, and angry about the whole thing. "He needs to come back," he said between clenched teeth. 

"Barton left hours ago." Tony tried to soothe Bruce by rubbing him, and holding him. "Jarvis? Agent Barton's location please?" He leaned in against Bruce. "Hold on, big guy."

"Agent Barton is in his room, sir. Shall I request he join you here?"

Bruce shook his head. "No," he said. Hearing Jarvis report Barton's location had eased the strain, but only a fraction. "I can walk."

"We'll go to the mountain, Jarvis," Tony said. "Please inform Clint that we'll be there very, very shortly."

"Of course, sir."

"Come on, Bruce," Tony said, and he helped Bruce get to his feet. "No time like the present."

Bruce stumbled along with Tony, barely noticing the corridors they traveled. Until finally they were at Barton's door and Tony was rapping his knuckles and not waiting for a response. "Jarvis, security clearance, open the door. This is an emergency."

But Barton was already at the door, pulling it open, and Bruce practically leapt at him. He encircled his arms around him, and clung to him, breathing in the scent of him. His internal agitation instantly began to subside. Safe. Barton was fine, and safe, and hadn't been _taken_ from him. Bruce shuddered as the emotion wended its way through his brain. Of course. He should have realized. 

"You okay now, Doctor Banner?" Barton asked. He'd embraced Bruce back, and he was looking earnest and concerned. 

"Yes, thank you," Bruce said, and managed to retreat a step. "It was just unexpected. That's all."

"What happened?" Barton asked. 

Tony pushed at Bruce with one hand and Barton with the other. "Let's not have a heart to heart in the hallway, okay? Very gauche. Very juvenile. Real men break hearts in their living rooms."

Barton allowed them to move into his space. "Do you want a glass of water?" he asked. "And the sofa is right over there."

"No, but thank you," Bruce said, and realized he'd been in such a state that he didn't even have his glasses with him. The world looked quite a bit fuzzy. Bruce eyed the couch but decided against it. Tony was now keyed up and there would be no sitting him down. Bruce doubted that Barton would sit, and Bruce didn't want to be the only one doing so. 

"So, what just happened?" Barton asked again. 

"The Other Guy," Bruce said. "He didn't see you leave. So when I woke up, he got a little bit…."

"Worried?" Barton suggested. 

"Panicked?" Tony spit out. 

"Angry," Bruce said. 

Barton gave a soft whistle, and Bruce didn't miss the ever-so-slight bloom of relief. Of course, he was expecting it, so it was easy to see. "That's it, then," he said. "We can't try anything else. If that little step almost had such a consequence, it would be too risky to pursue anything further."

"What?" Tony said, waving his hands. "No, Clint, that's not it at all. It just means you should _stay_ with us. No more running out in the middle of the night."

Barton shook his head. "Tony, I've got responsibilities as an agent. I can't promise that. And the first time that I get called away in the middle of the night, and have to be gone in less than five minutes—"

"You wake Bruce first and tell him good-bye. It'll take you fifteen seconds!" Tony countered. "And Bruce will wake me, and I'll make sure you don't forget your lunch money. Twenty seconds, maybe. Half a minute, tops. And you'll catch the school bus just like always."

"Tony, it doesn't work that way. We should stop this whole thing before it becomes critical."

Bruce just stood there as they argued and tried to gauge how he was feeling. His control was back, notched back into place because the Other Guy's rage had boiled back down to its usual level. In fact, with Barton so near, the Other Guy was just about as docile as he ever got, which still wasn't anything substantially reduced, but it was easier to manage. There was a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"It does work that way," Tony argued back. "Besides, what missions are there besides Avenger ones?"

"Sirs," came Jarvis' voice from overhead, "Captain Rogers has issued an assemble request. A threat has been detected that requires neutralization."

Barton's eyes narrowed at Tony, and he whacked him in the shoulder with the back of his hand. "Told you," he said, and then turned to grab his gear. 

~~~ 

The threat turned out to be five enormous human-like monsters with blade-like claws on their hands and feet. If they had been green, Tony might have suspected some type of gamma experiment gone wrong, but they were an ordinary range of flesh colors. They looked just like ordinary people puffed up with excessive muscles into a spectacularly frightening size, with razor-sharp teeth and claws. 

Tony circled one, took aim, and let loose with a blast of energy. The monster didn’t even stagger. “Oh, hell,” Tony muttered. “Guys? I think this might be the sort of fight better suited to Bruce and Thor. These bad guys act like I’m tickling them.”

“I recommend shooting them, not tickling,” Barton’s voice came over the communication system. Tony could see that he’d set himself up on top of a building, where Cap usually liked him to be positioned, for the overall view. 

“Thor must still be in Asgard, he hasn’t replied,” Steve said. Tony could see him now, too. He was at the perimeter of the monster-strewn destruction. He flung his shield at one of the monsters, and it was swatted away like a mosquito. A moment later he spoke again. “I’m not having much luck slowing them down. Bruce? That leaves you.”

“I’m on my way,” Bruce replied, and Tony swooped down. He flew behind Bruce and picked him up under the arms. 

“Need a lift to the party?” he asked. 

“That’d be appreciated,” Bruce said. When Tony set him down gently, he handed over his glasses. 

“You don’t have to,” Tony said, just to be clear. “You never have to.”

“Thanks. I know. But who else is there?” Then he turned to look over at the monsters, gritted his teeth, and transformed. The Hulk roared into the sky, and then launched himself at the nearest creature, tackling it sideways. 

A moment later, Tony blasted himself back into the sky to view the battle. Hulk was larger and stronger than his opponents, but there were five of them, and it was an uneven match-up just based on circle-and-attack strategies. 

Tony hindered the creatures where he could. If his weapons didn’t penetrate their thick hides, they were at least still vulnerable to physics, and Tony took every opportunity to trip, push, and topple them. But he knew he wasn’t making much of a permanent dent. Steve was also thick into the fray, knocking the monsters about in the same fashion, but they did keep getting up again. 

“Hulk’s outnumbered. We need another idea,” Tony said. “Cough ‘em up if you got ‘em.”

Natasha’s voice broke over the system for the first time. “Tranquilizers,” she said. “New intel on the hostiles. They’re five teenagers with a chemistry set in the kitchen, trying to make creatine smoothies and bulk up.”

“They succeeded,” Tony said with a snort. 

“So they aren’t truly hostiles,” Steve said. "We're fighting teenagers?" 

“That’s what it looks like,” Natasha said. “I just spoke with two of the mothers, and they’re frantic. Public relations nightmare, if we kill them.”

“You do realize that we sent _the Hulk_ after them?” Tony asked. “He only does three things. Smash. Also, smash. And, ah, yes, _smash_.”

“Damage control,” Steve decided. “Iron Man, see if you can help the Hulk understand the situation. Hawkeye? You've got some appropriate arrows?”

“Already in position,” Clint said. 

“Be ready, Hawkeye,” Tony said. “Because if the Hulk pulls his punches, those teenage monsters won’t pull theirs.” Tony wanted to say more about how he was less than pleased about sending Bruce into a situation where he shouldn’t be smashing, when Bruce already had issues with possibly injuring innocents, but there wasn’t time. Hulk didn’t wear a communicator because it invariably got destroyed, and having voices in his ear usually just made him confused and then angrier. “Hulk!” Tony dodged the monsters, and got in close. “Hulk, they’re just teenagers on drugs.” Tony wondered if it was wrong to interview the kids once they were back to normal. Making a concoction like this in their kitchen was pretty advanced. If they were trying to make creatine smoothies, it was probably because they were nebbish. He could use some genius dweebs. “Don’t smash them! No more smash, okay?” 

Hulk stared at him like he was an idiot, and it was enough of a pause that one of the monsters barreled Hulk sideways. It gouged out a deep, nasty divot in Hulk’s chest with its claws and took out a chunk of flesh on Hulk's arm with its teeth. Hulk roared at the assault, and knocked the creature sideways with a swing of his fist. 

Tony gasped, and twisted around to fire off everything he had at the creature, to force it farther away, when an arrow sailed right past him and sunk into the creature’s neck. Tony could see that it had perfectly hit the throbbing vein, and that the sedative was being mainlined. Probably not the healthiest option for the teenager inside the monster, but then again, getting blasted by Iron Man or smashed by the Hulk weren't good outcomes either. 

Two seconds later, and the monster went limp. Tony turned his head and realized all the monsters were down. 

“Hulk!” Tony snapped his visor up and rushed over. “Bruce?” He put his hands on Hulk’s arm, and felt ridiculously small. 

Hulk was still really angry, and he was glaring at the wounds, growling deep in his throat, and thrashing. Blood was streaming from the chest wound at an alarming rate, and the bite to his arm looked raw and painful. 

Tony glanced over and saw that an emergency medical team was hovering, but not approaching. They wouldn’t come near as long as Hulk remained. It was too dangerous. They’d help Bruce, though. 

Urgency flooded through Tony. The only way to get Hulk to calm down quickly was to get Clint there. Then he’d turn back into Bruce and the EMTs could save him. Tony snapped on his visor. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to find Hawkeye.”

Hulk made a noise, a mix of something Tony understood as agreement and impatience, just under the ever present angry huffing. Tony blasted into the air, and flew in the direction the arrow had originated from. He didn’t see Clint until he was nearly to the top of the building. Clint knelt down, on one knee, his gaze over the edge, clearly able to see the Hulk. He had a grip on the ledge, fingers white with strain. 

“Let’s go,” Tony said, not kindly. Clint should have gotten down there already. He _knew_ the Hulk would want him there. 

“Not yet,” Clint said, casting a glance at Tony for a fraction of a moment. 

“He’s bleeding. He’s hurt. He needs you _now_.” Tony couldn’t fathom this. Shouldn’t Clint be clawing his way down there at all costs? That’s what Tony wanted to do. Every moment he hesitated here was painful. “What the fuck is your problem?” 

"Hulk can survive this, but _Bruce_ can't," Clint said stiffly, stoically, each word spit out as if his throat burned. "If I go down there now, and he turns back—" Clint shook his head and crouched even lower.

"What?" Tony said as he digested the information, but then he realized Clint was correct. Hulk healed from just about anything, and as far as Tony knew, it could _be_ anything. But Bruce was vulnerable. 

"You think this is easy for me," Clint said, not even bothering to turn to look at Tony as he spoke. "You have Bruce all the time. I only have the Hulk for about three minutes after a battle. And right now I'm waiting up here."

"Oh," Tony said, and that was about the end of it. "I didn't realize." Tony hunkered down next to Clint, and took up the same vantage point. After an agonizingly long minute where Tony listened to Clint breathe, he said, "He already looks better. His arm is whole again, and I don't think there's any new blood on his chest." Tony stood up. "Want to hitchhike down?"

"Please." Clint allowed Tony to grab him under the arms, and they took off into the air. Tony touched down about ten feet away from the Hulk and realized that Hulk's attention had been on them the entire time they had been in flight. 

Clint ran forward, straight into Hulk's embrace, and Tony had to boggle at the size difference. Hulk's arms swallowed up Clint, like he was a china doll. And that was exactly how Hulk was now treating him, with unparalleled care. 

Hulk huffed and looked pleased, and Clint craned his neck to look up at Hulk. 

"You okay, Tough Guy?" he asked, his hands searching Hulk's chest at the point of injury. 

Hulk's hands came up around Clint, cradling him, softly stroking one finger over Clint's head, and Tony had to wonder that the Hulk could _be_ that gentle. 

"Next time, just keep smashing, okay?" Clint said. He laid his face against Hulk's chest, eyes closed. "Even if its kittens or bunnies."

Laughter rumbled in Hulk's chest, and Tony realized that Hulk was already shrinking. He glanced at the internal chronometer inside his display as the Hulk's skin turned pale, and he became Bruce once again. Forty-five seconds. Clint got less than a minute. 

Bruce, as usual, wasn't awake after the transformation back. Clint carefully extricated himself, standing off to the side to gaze at Bruce, then nodded, and turned to go. He looked to Tony, and gave him a half-hearted smile. "Your turn," he said.

"Wait," Tony said, mentally kicking himself. He'd been complaining about nine minutes and forty-two seconds? Tony felt sick about the whole miserable situation. "Stay," he said, and caught Clint by the upper arm. "Just…stay."

Clint hesitated and Tony was sure he was about to be shaken off. Then Clint gave him a minute nod, and settled into a relaxed stance off to the side, arms crossed on his chest. Tony nodded back before attending to Bruce. It was a start.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony orders pizza; Bruce talks to Clint. 
> 
> Tony orders pastries; Steve talks to Tony.

Bruce came to in the back of the usual ambulance that the team kept on retainer. Tony hovered over him and smiled, and Bruce noted that Clint was also just at the edge of his peripheral vision. It helped. 

The sudden wash of worried anger ebbed away before it could crest, and instead of plummeting back into the Other Guy, Bruce was able to sit up. “Did we win?” he asked, double checking. 

Tony waved it away. “We stopped them, it’s done. Good job, pat on the back. Go us. How do you feel?” He glanced at his watch. “I ordered pizza, by the way. It’ll be here in five minutes.”

“Good.” Bruce was usually hungry after transforming back. The Other Guy could smash things, but it did take a caloric toll. Past Tony, Bruce saw that Clint was slip-sliding out the back door. “Pants?” he asked. 

Tony pushed a pile of clothing at him and Bruce grabbed the pants and pulled them on. “Clint,” he said, voice low, and Tony turned. 

“Shit,” Tony said. “I thought he’d stay longer.”

“Let me talk to him,” Bruce said, and he scrabbled off the cot and out the door. “Clint,” he called out. 

Clint was fifteen feet away, dusty with the effort of battle, and he paused before turning around. “Yes, Dr. Banner?” he asked. He didn’t come any closer. 

“Please, call me Bruce,” he said. “We don’t need to be formal anymore, do we?”

“No, sir,” Clint said, and the double-edged politeness of the statement was not lost on Bruce. 

“What is it?” Bruce asked, and Bruce had to admit to himself that he was surprised how he felt about this. He’d originally thought it had been a crackpot idea of Tony’s, and he’d gone along just out of curiosity and to placate Tony, figuring it would die a quick death. But it had really just unscrewed the cap on a jar of truths that Bruce hadn’t been expecting. He’d been dealing with the duality of himself and the Other Guy for a long time now, and sometimes they were completely separate and sometimes they felt the same way. Lately, the Other Guy’s emotions had been bleeding over a lot more than usual, and Bruce found that he wasn’t against the idea anymore. “You like the Other Guy, and he likes you. But not me. Not Tony. Why?” 

Clint’s expression didn’t change. “With respect, I like you both just fine. You’re good teammates.” He glanced around warily, and then back to Bruce, a visual reminder that they were outside in public. 

Bruce backed off, suddenly aware of possible scrutiny. “Come by tonight for coffee,” he offered, scrambling for something, anything, to avoid the dead-end of the conversation. “We can play cards.”

“Sure, Dr. Banner. I’ll stop by. Later.” Clint pivoted on his heel, and walked away. 

Bruce watched him go, and wondered what he could possibly figure out to say by later that night to change the direction this was going. The Other Guy was quiet for once, not pressing against his skin, bursting to emerge. 

Tony popped out of the back doors of the ambulance, obviously having paid attention to the entire exchange. “That’s a step in the right direction,” he said, ignoring everything that had been wrong. “Coffee is good. Do you think he drinks decaf? And should I get some of those little finger cookie things? Or do you think it’s too much?”

Bruce shook his head, and noticed a car pull up next to the ambulance. A gangly teenager in a ridiculously bright orange and purple outfit got out with an insulated bag. “Did someone order pizza?” he called out. 

Tony waved and snapped his fingers. “Over here!” 

~~~ 

Tony sat at his bench space in the lab and flipped through the webpage of his favorite local bakery. He was trying to decide if going simple with some _biscotti_ was the better option, or if he should go all out and bring in the _cannolis_ and _sfogliatelles_. Barton was balancing on a thin edge and Tony wasn't sure which was the better way to help convince him it was safe to jump down and join them. 

Tony looked up when he heard the rap on the glass door, but it wasn't Bruce like he expected. It was Steve, and he had that weird aura of Team Captain shrouding him. 

"Steve, come in," Tony called, and the door unlocked and Steve stepped inside. "What can I help you with, Captain, my Captain?" Tony kept half his attention on the screen. Perhaps he shouldn't go with Italian cookies at all. Maybe Barton would be better swayed by _croissants_ and _madeleines_. 

"I just wanted to clear something up, Tony. It might be a bit of a touchy subject, but I'm going to be direct."

Tony stopped looking at the pastries. He frowned at Steve. "What?" he asked. 

"It's been noticeable for a while now, and today, on the communications link, we could hear your side of things, but Clint turned his off, so I don't know what he said to you."

Tony quickly started to review the conversation he'd had with Barton. He hadn't been particularly polite, but then again, it had been well within his usual range of bluntness. 

"But it's pretty obvious that something has been going on. And Clint's been very tense around you for nearly a week now."

"Oh, that—"

Steve's expression simultaneously hardened and became sympathetic. "I need this team to be stable, Tony. I can't have some of us harassing others, and from the outside, that's what it looks like. I need you to back off. Whatever beef you have with Clint, it has to be dealt with, and be done with."

"Harassing!" Tony exclaimed. 

Steve just gave him a stone-faced look. 

"Fine, maybe I am. A little. But it isn't what you think."

Steve held up a hand. "I don't need to know. I just need you to get over it and get back to a stable working relationship with Clint. The man's a workhorse, he rarely takes time off. I don't even understand how you could have an issue with him. Much less this constant harrying."

"It's completely not what you think," Tony said. 

Steve crossed his arms over his chest. "I think that his precarious situation with the Hulk has become an unavoidable lure to you, particularly with respect to your relationship with Bruce, and that you can't resist the temptation to poke the whole thing with a sharp stick, just to see how it turns out."

Tony blinked. "Maybe it is exactly what you think," he said. Then he pinched his forefinger and thumb together. "But not exactly quite on the nose."

"I don't care," Steve said. "Just make it right."

"I'm _trying_."

"Try harder." Steve took a step forward and loomed over Tony, giving him his soon-to-be-patented Disappointed Team Leader face. Then he gave Tony a sharp nod, since apparently there was an agreement that Tony would make it right, and Steve turned and left. 

Tony sighed. "Jarvis?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Call the bakery. I'm going to need a half dozen of everything."

"As you wish, sir."

~~~

Clint could guess that one of two people were knocking on his door, and when he opened it, he found he was right. Bruce Banner stood there, looking sad, hopeful, and resigned, all rolled into one. 

"Hi," he said. "May I come in?"

"Sure," Clint said, and left the door open while he retreated into his tower apartment. "Coffee canceled?" he asked. 

"No. That's still on." Bruce smiled slightly. "Tony's ordering up some pastries right now."

"Ah," Clint said. He figured that would go as well as things usually went when Tony was in charge. Voluminous and over the top. "So?" he asked. 

"I thought maybe we could talk. Without Tony. Just you and me. Because…."

Clint tilted his head, but declined to fill in the blank for Banner. If they had to have this conversation, Clint didn't intend to make it easier. 

"Because I'm the Other Guy," Bruce said. "And until this week, I didn't even know that you and he were…friends." He paused, but Clint didn't add anything. "So, I know Tony's been pushing this…thing."

Clint gave Banner an incredulous look and Banner blushed. Clint also wondered if Banner could get to the point. The awful, painful point of whatever he'd come here to get off his chest. Because Clint was already sick of his hesitant questioning, and his fumbling to not say the wrong things. Clint really just wanted to be left alone. It had been fine the way it was. He'd seen the Hulk after battles, and it was a slow friendship, and Clint had been okay with that. He hadn't really wanted more. Other than their pure selfish motivation of using Clint as some Hulk-panacea, Clint couldn't grasp what Stark and Banner thought they were orchestrating. 

Banner held his hands up. "And its okay, really, whatever you want to do about that. Although I think you should give it a chance. Really. We both like you. Not just because we want you to help me with my heart rate." 

Clint didn't even twitch when Banner finally spoke about the issue out loud. He'd have been tempted to think Banner could suddenly read minds, but really, the topic was a three-thousand pound gorilla in the room. There was only ignoring it, or talking about it. Either way, it was always there.

"You say you like us, but it doesn't seem that way," Banner continued. "Or at least, you don't like something. I don't know how we fix this, unless Tony and I understand what it is that you don't like." Banner stopped talking and just stood there, breathing hard, as if he'd been running. 

Clint felt a flush of anger. Usually he took pains to keep his cool, but Banner was just pushing everything far more than he liked. "How am I supposed to get involved with you and Stark," Clint asked, "if the both of you are constantly trying to figure out how to get rid of the Hulk?" He clenched his fists, realized he'd done it, and released. "I don't want him gone. And I don't want to be your cheerleaders while you do it." Clint took a step back, keeping a wary gaze on Banner. 

Banner looked shocked, and had grown pale. It looked like all the blood had drained from his face. 

"I think you should go now, Dr. Banner," he said. "And give Stark my regrets about not coming to eat the cakes he ordered."

"No," Banner said. "That's not…I mean, it just isn't."

Clint set his jaw and wondered if he should try to chuck Banner out into the hall. He supposed the worst case scenario was that the Hulk would show up, and he wasn't entirely opposed to that. 

"Clint," Banner said, and he reached out a trembling hand toward Clint. His fingers found the fabric of Clint's shirt just below his shoulder, and Bruce visibly swallowed. "Clint," he said again. "It's for just in case. Not right away. I swear. Even if we did figure it out. I wouldn't do that. Not if he's…needed."

Clint studied Banner's face, trying to catch the scent of a lie upon him, but it seemed that Banner at least believed what he said. Whether it was true or not, Clint didn't know. He felt his gut twist. Clint wanted very badly to trust Banner on this point. But he also did not want to be a fool. Or to have his expectations built, and then shattered. 

"I wouldn't, Clint. I just wouldn't." Banner's second hand caught Clint's shirt at the other shoulder, and Banner's hands fisted tight. He dropped his elbows and pulled so that he was mere inches away from Clint. His face was just next to Clint's, and Banner had closed his eyes. He was breathing hard enough that Clint could feel exhaled air on his cheek. 

"Dr. Banner…." 

"Clint, please." Banner was still gripping his shirt, but he'd released two fingers from his fisted grip, and he was touching Clint's skin, rubbing his neck. Banner dipped his head and brushed the side of his face against the side of Clint's face. "I feel almost normal when you're here," he whispered. "If it's better. For me. I won't need to undo him. He could stay."

Clint's heart did a little flip-flop at that. Feeling suddenly reckless, Clint leaned in, and pressed the length of his body against the length of Banner's. The man was hot to the touch, like he burned within. Clint wondered if it was all that anger that Banner held in check through the force of his will, if it somehow leaked out in other ways. Clint wrapped his arms around Banner and leaned in and slowly placed a kiss on Bruce's cheek. 

Bruce sighed. Then he said, "Come for coffee. We can walk up together." He released his fierce grip on one shoulder and snaked his hand down to clutch at Clint's hand. 

"Okay," Clint said, then added, "Bruce."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce brings Clint back to the bedroom, but there's a slight miscalculation. Tony solves it with coffee and pastries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning in this part for some very mildly dubious, under-duress consent issues. But it was all a misunderstanding.

Bruce felt very much disassociated from himself as he continued to hold Clint’s hand, leading him upwards to the tower apartment that he and Tony shared. The Other Guy didn’t seem inclined to make a bid for freedom and was quiescent, content, even given Bruce’s lightheadedness and less than solid emotional lock-down. When he looked over at Clint, the man had only a solemn expression, giving nothing away, though his eyes were wide and he seemed to be observing everything with quiet regard. 

Bruce made sure to spend a moment pushing the door open, to give Tony a second to realize they were there. It was never a good idea to force Tony to react spontaneously, as trouble usually ensued. 

“Bruce? Should I get out those weird platters that Pepper gave--” Tony asked. He was juggling several white pastry boxes still tied with string, and he turned his head. He changed words mid-sentence. “And Clint. Hi.” His gaze flicked down to the clasped hands between Bruce and Clint and then up again to Bruce, who gave him a very slow nod. 

“Clint’s okay with being here,” Bruce said, hoping that his translation of everything was right. If Clint wasn’t, he supposed he would now found out. But a glance to Clint revealed only that calm, solemn expression as he regarded Tony. 

“Good?” Tony said with uncertainty, still obviously taking in the dramatic shift of events. “Good, I mean. Right. I should brew coffee, then.” He put down the boxes. 

“Tony,” Bruce murmured. “Coffee later.” He started walking again, pulling Clint toward the bedroom, and Clint willingly followed. It was so strange, Bruce thought, almost as if he’d somehow drugged him, but he knew that wasn’t the case. Clint had acquiesced, and this was their chance. To find out what happened. To convince Clint to stay. Bruce flicked a glance to Tony, and hoped the man could see how precarious this was, and that they had to do this right. 

Tony’s expression was a mixture of confusion and wonderment. “Ah, now? Really?” Tony asked, but he followed, and a grin cracked into being on his face. “Excellent,” he said. 

Bruce tugged Clint into the bedroom, never once unclasping their hands. It was a tether and Bruce had the horrendous feeling that if he let go, then the lustrous atmosphere that had developed would dissipate, and Clint would turn and leave, blowing away like good fortune on a gale wind. Bruce sat on the bed and Clint crawled in next to him, and then Tony followed. 

Tony shucked off his shirt and abandoned his socks before rolling on top of Bruce. With a flick of attention to Clint, he snaked one hand down Bruce’s arm, to cover their grip with his own hand, warm and dry. For a long minute, Bruce fell into the haze of Tony giving him much longed-for attention, and the fantastical experience of having his heart beat with fervor, and yet the Other Guy merely lapped at his shielded walls. There was a contact point for Him, and he was sanguine for once. When Bruce finally gasped to the surface for a moment, he glanced at Clint, and realized that the man was resting. On his side, head tucked against a pillow, he watched Bruce and Tony with a heavy-lidded, sleepy gaze. He seemed settled in, calmly observant, as if a distant spectator. 

Which felt suddenly wrong to Bruce. This wasn’t just about convincing Clint to come and be a focal point—a handshake held firm for the night while Bruce and Tony indulged in their heated, base desires. Bruce had wanted to incorporate Clint, had wanted to include him in Tony's and his lovemaking. Having him off to the side was wrong on several levels. 

Bruce reviewed their previous conversation, trying desperately to unshift his own perspective, and finally caught the thread. Clint was doing this for the Other Guy. Of course. 

Bruce had claimed that if things were better for himself, that he wouldn't continue to seek to mitigate the Other Guy's existence. Of course Clint would see the resolution to the issue being that Bruce and Tony needed to be together to make Bruce happy, and if Clint's presence made it happen, then Clint was willing to provide that hand-held, or _more_ , focal point. 

Bruce groaned, but it sounded out loud like pleasure, and Tony redoubled his efforts. His hand was still clutched tight with Clint's, but now it felt like a shackle. Bruce had been so mistaken…and he could only wonder how far it would extend. What would Clint _do_ to _save_ the Other Guy. Bruce felt ill at the thought. 

No hint of coercion skimmed Clint's expression. He didn’t even appear resigned, just sweetly blank, as if he had narcotics thrumming through his system. Bruce reminded himself that Clint was a highly trained agent, and that holding hands while another couple made love was probably one of the least awful things Clint had borne throughout his career. Clint would stay there, doing only what was required of him, and probably repeat it as necessary, for as long as necessary, to achieve his goal. To secure the Other Guy's safety in existing. 

"No, Tony," Bruce whispered, trying to marshal his thoughts. Tony's ministrations felt amazing, and requesting that they stop seemed utter insanity, but Bruce could control his anger most of the time, so he should have no problem with such selfish urges. "Wait."

Tony pulled away, eyes flicking to Clint and back to Bruce. He didn't know anything other than Bruce had declared Clint to be okay, and that they were all going to the bedroom. Bruce felt like he should be somehow punished for making such a mess of this. "Bruce?" Tony asked. 

"Clint," Bruce said, and rolled to his side. His hand was still joined with Clint's, and Clint's blankly serene expression didn't even waver . He leaned in, obviously about to join in, to appease Bruce in what he must think Bruce desired. "No, wait," Bruce said, and now Clint did look uneasy. "The Other Guy stays," Bruce said, groping for the words that would fix this. How could he ever determine if Clint would join them, without duress, if the Other Guy was always in jeopardy? "No matter what," Bruce said. "No matter what you do or don't do. He stays."

Tony frowned as his attention swiveled between them, and Bruce knew that his quicksilver genius was making connections very, very quickly. 

Clint's bland, blissful expression darkened minutely, but Bruce was glad. It meant that Clint was thinking, rather than just allowing everything to happen around him. He opened his mouth to speak and Bruce interrupted him on purpose. 

"Even if you leave here right now, and we never see you again except for team missions. Hulk stays." Bruce hated addressing him using his…name. But he had to. Clint had to _understand_.

"I thought we had a deal," Clint said. "I don't get it."

Tony sucked in a breath and Bruce flushed, knowing that Tony had finally figured out what had happened. He was embarrassed. One, for having made this wretched mistake, and two, for the very possibility that Tony might think he'd made it purposefully. That he _had_ made such a deal with Clint. Of course, hadn't that been Tony's very intent at the beginning? To broker this sort of deal, just on much more amiable and willing terms?

"There was never a deal," Bruce said. "We like you, and we want you with us. But Hulk _stays_. Whether you go or stay or…whatever you do. It has nothing to do with you. Nothing at all."

Clint frowned. 

Tony covered his mouth with a fist and cleared his throat. "Perhaps now would be the perfect time for coffee and pastries," he said when Clint and Bruce both looked at him. "I have it on good authority that there are some seriously choice desserts in the other room." He grinned. "Coffee anyone?"

~~~ 

Tony had actually ordered a brand new espresso machine for the kitchen, on the hopeful determination that he would eventually win over Clint, and he’d wanted to fulfill his promise. It had not yet arrived, however, so he was left with the usual workhorse drip machine, or an underused French press. He did have at hand some Jamaica Blue Mountain coffee, so he opted for the French press. “This coffee is so good,” he said loudly over the grinding bean noise, “that you don’t even need cream or sugar.”

Neither Bruce nor Clint responded, and Tony decided that the best course of action was just to blithely keep talking. Bruce was leaning against the door frame, as if he wanted to escape that very moment, and was flushed red. Tony had worked out the general gist of what had happened. Some terrible miscommunication existed between Bruce and Clint wherein Clint somehow believed that he had to participate in their sexcapades or else Bruce would…well, Tony wasn’t sure about that. Do something to the Hulk. Since they hadn’t yet developed a working compound to deal with the Hulk, Tony thought that must have been a pretty blustery bluff. And Tony had no doubt that hadn’t been Bruce’s intention, to make Clint believe such a thing, because Tony knew Bruce and he just wouldn’t. Somehow, though, Bruce had stumbled all over his words and meanings and it had come out as a threat, or an offered option, tit-for-tat. Clint had taken it seriously. So he’d come meekly along, ready to sit on the sidelines, and then ready to get in the game. Tony was really glad Bruce had put a halt to the whole thing. He shuddered at the thought. Tony Stark did not want any unwilling, unhappy bed partners. Ever. 

Clint was currently lounging insouciantly against the refrigerator door, watching Tony prep the French press, but he wasn’t talking. He would glance at Bruce and then at Tony, but he was obviously waiting for them to make the first move. 

Tony only planned to make coffee at this point. 

“We should bring the pastries in here,” Tony decided as he finished grinding the beans. He poked a finger in at the material. He’d bought a state of the art burr grinder for this purpose, and the grind looked just right. “I like kitchens. Much nicer than dining rooms.” Tony purposefully looked at Clint. “Would you mind? While I get this started?” 

“Sure,” Clint said, a low-toned gravelly sound, and with a glance at Bruce, he passed by him and out into the other room. Bruce gave Tony the most beseeching look that Tony had ever witnessed, but Tony shook his head. Now was not the time to start a discussion. Clint was back thirty seconds later, white boxes piled high. He placed them on the table. 

“Plates are in that cupboard over there,” Tony said, pointing. “Grab the stack. I think some of the pastries are stickier than molasses. Probably because they’re made with molasses. And honey. I’m pretty sure I bought some funnel cakes.” That had been Tony’s leap of brilliance. He’d made sure that a whole bunch of the items were the sorts of things found at the fairgrounds. That should make Clint happy, at least a little bit.

The problem as Tony saw it was that each of them was off their game. Bruce should be quietly making insightful comments and Tony had seen taciturn Clint, and he didn’t like him as much as the jovial Clint to which he was more accustomed. So Tony was prepared to move forward with at least trying to make things _feel_ better, even if they weren't quite. The first step was just to make it easier to breathe around each other. Doing ridiculous things like eating too many pastries was the perfect path to that kind of harmony.

“Okay,” Tony said. “Coffee is ready in three minutes. Let’s divvy up the sweets. I bought too much, as usual. We are going to each try all of them, and rate them, so that in the future, when I have to purchase cakes and cookies and all manner of sundries, I’ll know what to get and what to pass on.” He looked at Bruce and Clint, neither of whom seemed thrilled. 

“I’m not really hungry,” Bruce said. 

Clint squared his shoulders and looked down at the white boxes. “I’m in,” he said. 

“Okay, good.” Tony opened the first box. It held a dozen doughnuts, six of which looked like swans made out of nougat and six of which looked like fish with almonds for scales and jelly beans for eyes. “Yeesh,” Tony said. “Let’s split each cookie into threes,” he said, “or we’ll all be sick in an hour.” 

The kitchen timer beeped and Tony moved to squeeze down the mesh liner inside the French press. Then he poured the coffee into three white china mugs. He handed one to Bruce, who looked a little numb, and Tony figured a jolt of caffeine would be a good start to getting him back on board. He set the other down near Clint, who had already divided up a nougat swan and an almond fish into three sections and portioned them out onto three separate plates. 

Clint picked up the coffee and sniffed it, and an actual smile started to hint at his lips. Then he sipped it and closed his eyes. “I haven’t had coffee this good in…I don’t know. A long time. Thanks.”

Tony smiled and waved at the cookies. “There’s more. And I think we’ll need it to deal with all this sugar.”

“No kidding,” Clint muttered, but it was a friendly sarcasm. 

Seventeen cookies, nine tarts, three mini-cakes, and one gelatin blob later, and Tony was definitely starting to feel ill. He eyed the other boxes. 

“Four boxes to go,” Clint said. He was cutting up something that looked rather too overwhelmingly chocolate-cherry-gel flavored, and it oozed out onto the plate. He put the pieces down and licked his thumb clean of a bright splash of red goo. 

Tony watched the motion with the sudden awareness of a desire to have been the one to lick the sticky cherry liquid off. He squelched the emotion and took his revenge by preemptively flitting forward and pinching one of the pieces between forefinger and thumb. He popped it in his mouth and noticed a smear of red covered his own thumb. Tony licked at it and felt much less peevish when he noticed Clint’s eyes focused on his motion. It meant nothing for the rest of that night, but everything in the scheme of what Tony suspected might come after. 

“We should make more coffee,” Bruce said. He had started taking notes about a half dozen cookies in when Tony and Clint had quarreled about their temporary favorite.

“Got it,” Tony said and he went over to the counter to start the process of French pressing some more Jamaica Blue Mountain into existence. 

When they finally got to the very last sample, Tony thought that they all looked a little green, especially Bruce, and it wasn’t because there was a Hulk trying to get out. 

“That’s it,” Clint said and pushed the plate away. “Last one.” 

Empty and half-full pastry boxes were scattered everywhere and they’d managed to dirty every plate and quite a few bowls. Spoons and forks lurked under piles of napkins. Most of the pastries were still there since they'd only eaten small portions. Tony waved a hand at the not-empty boxes. "I'll see if those can be donated to a soup kitchen or food pantry tomorrow. Someone must want double marshmallow caramel raspberry coconut almond chocolate pinafores and whatever the hell else we've just been eating."

Clint grinned as he surveyed the carnage. “Thanks for the invitation,” he said. 

Tony chuckled. “Privilege of the guest,” he said. “No clean up.” He glanced at his watch. “Not quite midnight. Are you leaving before you risk pumpkinhood?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Clint gave Bruce a slight smile and a head nod. Things weren't fixed, but it all felt much easier now, and the tension had dissipated. Tony walked him out to the door. Behind him, Tony could hear that Bruce had followed them out, though he stayed at a slight distance. 

Tony held out his hand. “Good evening. We’ll do it again sometime.”

Clint considered Tony’s hand then reached out and completed the handshake. He tilted his head to look at Tony, and it resembled a small bird so much for just a moment that Tony huffed and tried to keep his laughter down. “When you’re ready, Barton,” Tony said. “Look us up. We’ll be here.”

“Sure,” Clint said easily, and then he was gone, and Tony closed the door behind him. Tony turned to see Bruce looking pale. 

“I didn’t mean….”

“I know you didn’t. I think it’s fine now. Coffee and dessert fix a lot of ills.” Tony wrapped his arms around Bruce. “You’re stuck with just me now, you know.”

Bruce sighed. “I’m glad. The Other Guy isn’t. He wants Clint. But I want you.”

Tony hugged him tighter. “Good. That’s not a bad way to go, when all is done and told. And we can focus back on the lab stuff.” Tony rubbed Bruce’s back. “Although if you want him back at all, you know you’ll have to keep those words of yours.”

“Do you think he’d ever come back?” Bruce asked, and Tony could feel him tense up. 

“Actually, I do. When we least expect it. It’s got to be on his terms.” Tony grinned. “I know you can’t imagine this, but perhaps I was a bit too pushy in the matter. I mean, I know that’s highly unusual, but whatever. I think it needed a lighter touch. Than, you know, my usual steamroller.”

Bruce laughed. “How odd,” he said. Then he made a face. "Time for bed. And maybe something to settle my stomach."

"You and me both," Tony replied.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Chapter!
> 
> Twenty-three days later, and Clint and Hulk get a chance to connect, and talk. Clint's all about protecting the Hulk. 
> 
> Tony thinks about his equations some more. Four variables is quite a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me during the posting! I really appreciate all the comments, and I'm so glad to know that others really love the Clint & Hulk dynamic, too.

Twenty-three days later, after mopping up another failed attempt at tri-state area domination, Clint found himself in that magical twilight window where the threat was over but the Hulk hadn’t yet transformed. The Hulk had just finished smashing up the last of the robots, and had turned around, searching the streets. 

Clint plugged one more arrow into a fritzing robot, to make sure it stayed down, and then scurried to the edge of the building and repelled down the side. Hulk was at the bottom, waiting, arms wide, ready to catch him, and Clint dropped the last few feet. 

“Hi-ya, Big Guy,” Clint said. The Hulk held him lightly, always careful, but it was a fully engaged embrace. Clint closed his eyes, happy for the moment, and leaned into the hug.

Hulk grunted at him. “Hulk miss,” he grumbled. “Always miss.”

“I know,” Clint said, “me too.” 

Hulk’s face was scrunched up and he was breathing hard, obviously upset, and Clint realized he’d never seen him like this so close up. Usually when Clint was there, Hulk calmed down, and Banner showed up. “Hulk still here,” Hulk said, struggling with each word. “Inside. Hulk inside.” He lifted his head, one arm cradling Clint, and raised his other arm high, and gave a ferocious roar. Clint could feel the stiffness of his muscles. Hulk was not getting any calmer, and Clint could tell whatever he was trying to express might be beyond his verbal ability. Hulk was smart and clever, but there were some obvious broken verbal linkages. He knew more in his mind than he could express. 

“It’s okay, Big Guy, whatever it is, it’s fine. You can tell me.” Clint reached out, clinging, and wished he could understand better. 

“Hulk inside,” Hulk ground out, “when Hulk not outside.” He shifted around, agitated. 

Clint repeated the words to himself, and understanding dawned, a little nebulous, and then he became more certain. “When you’re Banner, you’re still there, just inside,” he said. “But you’re always there.” 

Hulk seemed satisfied with that. He brought his other hand around to stroke at Clint’s head, which was what he usually did just before he calmed down and went away. “Hulk want,” he said. “Want when Hulk not outside. Hulk miss.” Then Hulk shifted, angry still, and Clint figured it was hard not to be, when so much about Hulk’s situation was a raw deal. Hulk only got to come out when Banner lost control, or they needed him to smash an enemy. The rest of the time, Hulk wasn’t wanted, and Hulk had no say in what Banner did. And now Hulk was revealing that he was aware, deep inside Banner, and probably miserably angry since Clint had definitely made sure to keep as far from Banner as he could for the past three weeks. 

Clint wasn’t sure what exactly had happened three weeks ago, he was still trying to figure it out, only that it seemed like Stark and Banner had lost their minds. He couldn’t blame them. Nine minutes and forty-two seconds would have driven him loco as well. 

“It’s going to be okay. I promise,” Clint said. Hulk roughed up his hair and smiled down at him. Clint wasn’t sure exactly how Hulk thought about him, but he thought they were something like friends, something like intimates, though Clint had no urges to do anything with Hulk of that nature. It was a weird, unique thing that Clint didn’t have the words to explain, but it was love of an indefinable variety, and that was enough for Clint. He didn’t have to dissect it. 

“Hulk protect,” Hulk said, looking stern and decided. 

“Clint protect,” Clint said, smiling up. If anyone needed protection, it was the Hulk. Clint had checked, and it looked like Banner had kept his promise. Everything had been shelved, both in the lab and on the computer. He might still be doing secret research, but as far as Clint could tell, he wasn’t searching for a way to make the Hulk vanish anymore.

Hulk laughed, obviously thinking that he was so much bigger and stronger that there wasn’t anything Clint could protect him from. Hulk looked less large now, and nowhere near as green. Hulk’s hands were wrapped around Clint, still gentle. “Stay,” Hulk said, his voice changing. “Stay with Hulk.”

“Always, Big Guy,” Clint promised. 

“Stay,” Hulk said one more time before his eyes closed and he slumped, shrinking down into Bruce Banner. 

 

Usually Clint would back away and let Tony swoop in, but he didn’t move this time. He looked around and located Tony, who was hanging back, Iron Man face plate lifted, waiting his turn. Clint motioned him forward and Tony came, eyeing Clint with curiosity. 

“Is that option to stay still on the table?” Clint murmured. He was now crouched on his heels next to Bruce, who was not yet stirring. 

For a moment Tony didn’t answer, then he said very quickly, “Yes. Of course it is. It always is. Definitely yes.” Tony scrutinized Clint. “You’re sure?” he asked. “Because last time. That was hard. For Bruce.”

“I guess we’ll find out,” Clint said. “But I’d like to try. Last time doesn’t count. You shouldn’t start negotiations with exploits involving twins.”

Tony snorted. “A question you never actually answered.” Tony was still staring at Clint. “You’re really sure?” he asked. 

Clint frowned. “Do you want me to punch you in the face right now? Because that’s starting to sound like a very good idea. If you ask me one more time if I’m sure.”

“You’re sure,” Tony decided. “That’s good. Very lovely. We’ll celebrate. I’ll get pastries.”

“Hell no. I was sick for three days. But I’ll take some of that coffee you made.”

A coy, clever expression settled over Tony’s features. “There’s coffee in the morning. When we wake up. If you’d care to stay the entire night.”

“If you weren’t in the suit, I would definitely punch you in the face,” Clint said. He scowled at Tony. “Don’t make me not like you. I’m staying for the Hulk.”

“You wound me, Agent Barton,” Tony said. He waggled his eyebrows. “You’ll stay for the Hulk, but I’ll make you enjoy it.”

“That’s it.” Clint dropped into a leg sweep, pushing one of Tony’s legs out at the ankle and the other backwards at the junction of hip and leg. It made Tony wobble over like a table with two legs, even in his Iron Man suit. Clint glared at Tony from his balanced crouch on the ground. “Play nice,” he said. “Or else I won’t show you all the other skills I have.”

Tony’s yelp of surprise was replaced by a hungry, calculating look. “Agent Barton, I hope you aren’t just a tease.” 

Bruce sat up and looked between them. “Something I should know?” he asked. He looked exhausted and disheveled, and somewhat curious. He peered at Tony, and Clint remembered that Bruce usually wore glasses and probably couldn't see very well. 

“Clint’s coming home with us,” Tony said quickly. “He wants to drink more coffee. In the morning.”

Bruce glanced to Clint. "Is that true?"

Clint nodded. "If the offer is still open, that is."

Bruce smiled. "Always open. Maybe this time I can avoid giving stupid ultimatums I don't mean."

"Ultimatums never turn out the way you want them to," Clint said. He narrowed his gaze at Tony. "Except this one. If you ever run out of that coffee, I _will_ leave. Just so you know."

"Duly noted. I'll lay in a stock." Tony held up two hands in a placating gesture. "So, ahhh, should we actually head home now? Bad guys are vanquished, and I don't know about either of you but adding in a roomie always means figuring stuff out. Who gets the shower when. Labeling toothbrushes. Who gets to be on top. All that. We should get started."

Bruce coughed, embarrassed, and slid a look at Clint. "When you're ready," he added. "I'm not presuming."

Clint shrugged and stood up. "Not a conversation to have post-battle on the street. Stark, I think you said there would be coffee. Let's go."

~~~

Tony was happy. 

First of all, Bruce was happy and that was something that made Tony glad. It had always been about Bruce, really. Making it possible for Bruce to be as normal as life allowed. Keeping things at a low simmer instead of a chaotic over-boil. And for the first time since they'd gotten together, Bruce could engage in whatever he wanted. It was like every holiday all rolled into one, and Tony wasn't sure he could quite comprehend the level of bliss they were both experiencing over that. 

Second, Clint was with them now. Tony liked the man, sincerely. Last night had been low key, for sure. Clint apparently had decided to stick with them on the spur of the moment, because of whatever the Hulk had told him, and Clint was taking it really slow. Tony was good with his added presence in their bedroom, although there had only been light touching, exploratory kissing, and the like. It hinted at more to come all in good time. Tony could be patient, contrary to whatever others thought of his somewhat impetuous nature. He was in no rush, now that Clint was committed to honestly trying out the arrangement. And Tony would make sure that it was good for him. Even if he had to buy up every last bag of that coffee in existence. 

So, thirdly, Tony now knew how the equation worked out. He had finally, finally balanced it. 

(Tony + Bruce) Clint = Happy Hulk

Where Happy Hulk = Happy Clint =Happy Bruce = Happy Tony

Tony was fine with that. This was the best sort of math.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Adding an Additional Variable](https://archiveofourown.org/works/743333) by [australiansurmise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/australiansurmise/pseuds/australiansurmise)




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